A Voice from Beyond

Amy was a free spirit, a mischievous elf, a scathing critic, a talented musician, a trouble-maker, a saviour, an aviator, a conundrum.

It was 1991. I went to a job interview - the kind where you had to sit in the front of a room while a panel of 7 or 8 interviewers sit like supreme court judges in a semi-circle and grill you mercilessly. I answered all previous questions to the satisfaction of the group... Explain the differences between second and third normal form. Can you elaborate on when you would choose to use foreign keys (not to get into your friend in Madrid's flat when they weren't home). You get the idea. Amy was the last to ask a question.

Amy: "What is your name?"
Me: "Albi-Zia"
Amy: "What is your quest?"
Me: "I seek the grail."
Amy: "What is your favorite color?"
Me: "Blue, no yeeelllllllllllllllllllllooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww"

Who would have thought that my college extra-curricular activites of watching Monty Python's Holy Grail about 30 times (my first time was with my friend J.T. - it was his 45th time) would help me through a job interview. Well, it was a British company. I guess truth can be stranger than fiction sometimes. I got across the bridge of death, landed the job, and Amy and I became friends immediately.

One year after I started working there, my fiance and I broke up and I had to move out of our shared apartment. Amy had just bought a house that she was sharing with her brother and her 2 cats, James Bond and Agent 99. She offered me a room. It was a hard time for me, and she helped me through the tough parts... sharing bottles of wine and cheese on slices of green apple, addicting me to freshly brewed coffee and salt bagels, and forcing me to watch marathons of Fawlty Towers. It was one of the best times of my life. We would sit out on her back deck, she would play guitar, we would sip margaritas, and we would sing for half the night. We started a small musical group called The Blue Notes and performed in the bar that her brother managed. On the spur of the moment, she took me to a Spanish restaurant where no English was spoken and introduced me to fresh Sangria while we were serenaded by a mariachi band. She grew controlled substances as houseplants, and she was generous about sharing. She tried (in vain) to teach me how to drive a stick shift. An idea would seize her and she would implement it immediately. She was the most dynamic person I have ever met.

Funny thing is, as kind and wonderful as she was to me and as much as I liked her, there were many people who hated her just as passionately. She would try to stir up trouble between people. If she didn't like you, she would do anything she could to try to throw roadblocks in your way, just because she could. And you never knew why she would decide not to like you. It could be the way the planets were aligned the first day you met, that you looked at her breasts when talking to her instead of looking in her eyes (she really really hated it when guys did that), that you slept through her Database Design class, that she got up on the wrong side of the bed that day.

I lived with Amy for about a year, then I moved to New York. I'm not very good at keeping up with old friends, and we sort of lost contact. While I was living with her, she was studying to get her pilots license. She eventually got what she wanted, she got out of "the computer biz" and became a cargo pilot.

Last year I heard the news: "Two die in plane crash immediately after takeoff... " I said at the time that it is the way she would have wanted to go - out in a blaze of glory. I felt bad then that I had never repaid her for all of her kindnesses to me - and there were many, very very many.

The past week or so, Amy has been popping into my head at odd times... while stepping out of the shower, in the middle of walking across a room, sitting at my computer at work. I get the oddest feeling that Amy is trying to communicate something to me from the other side. I wonder sometimes what her message might be. Probably something like this:

Live. Laugh. Be happy in every moment. While you can, Live.

My kingdom for a bowl of macaroni !

I am on a diet…again. A couple of years ago I actually lost about thirty pounds. No one noticed that I had lost an ounce until I hit the twenty-five pound mark and then the remarks started raining down on me.

“Wow, you look great, what have you been doing?”
“Wow, I have never seen you in blue jeans; you look like a different person.”
“The Atkins diet huh… I may have to look into that…”

I ended up hitting what we fat dieting people call a plateau. I was stuck at two hundred and twelve pounds and could not budge from it no matter how closely I stuck to the Atkins plan. Luckily I got sick as a dog during my Christmas vacation and dropped another six pounds. It only took fourteen days of sleep deprivation and starvation to knock me off my plateau. What at bargain! Two hundred and six pounds was only six pounds away from two hundred, and I had not weighed two hundred in fifteen years. I could see the light at the end of the diet tunnel. I was so close to two hundred that I could feel the tongue of my belt slipping into a new notch… but something happened; I just stopped caring. I had gone five months with just the minimal amount of carbs and in case you don’t know there is nothing that satisfies like good ole carbs. I craved cake, pizza, sandwiches and the forbidden fruit of the Atkins plan…pasta. My first bite of Spaghetti was like taking a hit of crack…all those pleasure chemicals dumping from my brain in one big rush. A roast beef sandwich was like angel dust and carrot cake was like pure Chinese heroin. It was not long before my old habits quickly replaced my new good one and the weight piled back on me like icing.

Two years later I am back at my old weight and then some. I am trying to take the good things that I learned from the Atkins diet and add in some fruit. I actually joined weight- watchers, which operates by making you feel guilty with weekly ten dollar weigh-ins. All I can say is that it works. Last week I did not loose a pound and I almost burst out into tears during post weigh-in grocery shopping. What a girly man! I don’t know for sure but maybe I should cut guzzling beer out of my diet. How do people get through life without a cold one waiting on them at the end of the day? Are there people out there that really don’t drink? Without beer I might actually have to deal with a few things and that just sounds like no fun at all. Funny how I never thought that I would have a weight problem; I was always so skinny in high school. Being fat really humbles you. I think that everyone should have to be fat at least one time in their lives…it is something that you never forget.

P.S. I have been dieting for four weeks now and I have barely lost five pounds. It is going to be a slow ride to my ideal weight. My kingdom for a bowl of macaroni!

Worm Food

I was told a story that sent me on a crying jag in the middle of a sunny Sunday afternoon. It was about a bus driver who noticed an elderly woman passenger wearing a fur coat on a hot sunny day. Sensing that something might have been wrong with her, the bus driver inquired about her destination. She answered him vaguely about some restaurant on 8th street where she would be dining with friends. After speaking with the woman, it was clear to the driver that she was suffering from Alzheimer’s. The lady was distraught about the possibility of missing an evening with her friends and was almost in tears.

The bus driver then took on the persona of a limousine driver and decommissioned his bus for public service. After arriving at 8th street, the bus driver went into every restaurant on the block and looked for a group of elderly people that may have possibly been her friends. His search was fruitful and he chauffeured the woman to the entrance of the restaurant and opened the door for her like a queen. The woman had a wide smile as she entered the restaurant but before she sat down with her friends she turned and spoke to the driver.

“You know I was diagnosed with cancer today but instead of being the worse day of my life, it has turned out to be the best.”
“There is nothing like spending an evening with friends to cheer you up.”
“Thank you” she said with deep earnest, put her frail veined hand upon his strong one, and turned to meet her friends.

I cannot do justice to this story by putting it in my own words, D told it much nicer. Both of us were crying before she had gotten halfway through the story. Small acts of kindness have the potential to cause huge amounts of impact. Kindness has the power to strike us deeply and make us reflect on our own behavior. It is also contagious. Let one person merge into traffic ahead of you and more often than not you will see that same person let someone merge ahead in traffic in front of them. Traffic is a good example of the opposite of kindness: selfishness. There is something about being behind the wheel of a car that can make you feel invisible …and when you are invisible you can do anything. Normally good people: tailgate, give people the finger, yell vulgar expressions, drive too fast, don’t use turn signals, and are generally discourteous on the road. It all stems from the feeling that regardless of my actions (unless a cop notices me), there will be no repercussions because the people being acted upon are strangers to me and I am a stranger to them. In other words, if I don’t know you…fuck you. People seem to be mean because it is easy. Kindness requires effort, effort takes time and time is something none of us have in abundance…especially for strangers. It is this “I am an island” attitude that gets the whole world in trouble. A more truthful statement would be that we the people of the world are all stranded on the island of Earth and suffering from the terminal disease of life. Everyone living at this moment is part of a brotherhood in time. A blink from now and we are all worm food.

Funny Thoughts!

I can't get this image out of my head, and I can't stop laughing each time I think of it!

Okay, I work in a big highrise building, over 20 floors. Sometimes these window washers are dangling right outside the window. I'm sitting at my desk on the 15th floor, I turn around, and there's some guy just hanging there buy a rope.

So what do I do? Well, lately I've thought of a really great thing to try. I go up on the roof and walk to the edge where his rope is secured. I grab the rope, and very gently, very slowly start swinging it. Eventually I get the momentum and I could probably get the sucker over to the next building! I wonder that no one's ever thought of that before!

Laying in bed at night, the thought of trying it pops into my head and a burst of laughter pops out of me like I'm drunk. My wife thinks I'm slap happy for lack of sleep.

Please, give your comments or your own funny thoughts.

Timing is Everything

Sometimes people share the same rhythm. Occasionally I will notice that someone is unknowingly running on my schedule. Recently I have shared my clock with an elderly man that works in my building. Each morning we stand side-by-side waiting on the parking garage elevator to take us to work and each evening we step out of it and walk to our cars and drive out into our lives. He reminds me of my Uncle Albert. He is thin and always well dressed in a colorful sports jacket. Today it was sunflower yellow. His southern accent is of the old and rare variety and a bit of honey hangs on the end of his words.

“High theya, how ar yu do en?”
“Is this rayn eva gonna to let up?”

There is a slight frailty about him and he seems to be four or five years beyond retirement age. I sometimes find myself worrying about him on days when we are out of sync.

“Did he die?”
“Is he sick?”
“Does he have anyone to take care of him?”

Luckily, he always shows up within a day or two and I am relieved. Sometimes I think that I should introduce myself to him but something always makes me stop. For whatever reason the teeth in the cogs of our lives have lined up perfectly and that seems enough.

See you in Nirvana

Man oh man was she cute. She was the tiniest little thing; if she had been five foot it would have been because the ruler had been exaggerating. She worked in the camera department at Richway (known nowadays as Target). She had blonde hair and blue eyes and looked like a baby faced Marcia Brady. My friend Greg dated her for just a minute and I envied the hell out of him.

“She is wild” my friend told me with a wink.
“No way, not her, she looks so innocent”, I said in disbelief.
“One night at the river park she got down in the floorboard of my car and tried to drain me of all my vital fluids” he said in a boastful manner.
“Yeah right, and then you woke up” I added.
“Okay, don’t believe me; I was as surprised as you are”

I worked for the security company that Richway had hired to monitor and lock up the place. I was only part-time which meant that I was scheduled for the hours that the full time employees did not want. Many Friday and Saturday nights I found myself locking doors and many Sunday mornings I did the opposite. It was during one of these chump shifts that I found myself flirting with said camera department girl as she swept and restocked her area.

“Hi, my name is Melissa I have seen you talking to Greg.”
“My name is GS3, I work security here.”
“Everyone thinks you are a shoplifter.”
“Yeah, the security people don’t want the people here to know who I am.”
“Would you walk me out to my car after the store closes?” she asked like she was actually concerned for her safety.
“Sure, I would love to” my pants struggling to restrain my enthusiasm.

Later that night when the store was closed, we leaned on her little car in the dark of the parking lot and talked about things we liked.

“Wow, I never met a girl that liked Monty Python”
“Yeah, have you seen the Life of Brian?”
“No, not yet I have been meaning to rent it from the video store”
“It is my fav”
“Hey do you like the Beatles?”
“I LOVE THE BEATLES!” she exclaimed like a true fan.
“Do you have any of Paul’s solo stuff?”
“Nah, I like George”
“Wow, you are incredible” I said before I fell into a love-sick dreamy la-la state.

We spent the next thirty minutes kissing while Elton John played on her car stereo.

“Benny, Benny, Benny, Benny and the jetssssssssssssssssssssssssss”, Elton lamented over and over again.

Somehow I managed to be lucky enough to share a shift or two with Melissa and we were able to sneak a few kisses in lonely forgotten aisles. One hot summer day, I grabbed her and my buddies and we all crammed into my 1973 Camaro and set out to explore Marietta. She always made me feel so silly. My lack of attention caused us to get into a minor auto accident in which I ended up chasing my hub cap down a congested street. Despite the heat and my goofy in-love behavior, to me the day was pure fucking magic.

As the summer got long in the tooth, my work at Richway became less frequent. The full-time employees were taking more of the schedule and new people had been hired. I put in my two weeks notice and hoped like hell I would have one more night with Melissa. I got my wish…and then some. As I wandered through the store securing doors and setting alarms, Melissa pulled me aside. She said that she was going to a party but would like to stop by my house later. Not only was her suggestion more than fine with me but my parents were not in town. They had gone to the mountains to visit some friends. “God damn it, there is a God”, I thought.

I finished my work at Richway, running from door to door anxious for my late night date to begin. I was in such a hurry that on the way home I ran a red light and an old lady in a station wagon slammed into the side of my Camaro, knocking my muffler out of its socket. I did not even stop. I rode home in a vehicle that sounded like a Harley. I watched the old lady’s shocked face as I hauled ass into the night.

Once home I quickly cleaned up and waiting for her on pins and needles. I ended up falling asleep on my mom’s fat overstuffed couch and did not awake until I heard the well anticipated knock. When I opened the door, Melissa was standing there drenched in water from head to toe. She said that she had fallen into a swimming pool and when she kissed me, she tasted like rum and coke.

“Do you have anything I can wear?” she slurred.
“Sure” I said and gave her my new baby blue Mickey Mouse t-shirt (my favorite).

She took off all her clothes right there in the hallway while I had a heart attack. Things were looking up for old GS3. I put in a laser disk and sat with her against those big fat pillows. The pretense of movie watching was soon discarded and soon we were knee deep in teenage lip lock….but she wanted more. My dolphin shorts were being tugged toward the floor and her head was heading south. The situation was escalating far beyond my expectations and I was elated…until a thought popped in my mind. “What if my parents come home?” There mere word parent in my brain caused an undesired reaction in another part of my body.

“What’s wrong G” she asked as if she had never encountered such a thing”
“I don’t know, that never happens”
“Let’s go to your bedroom, you will be more comfortable”

After a few more attempts were made at raising the dead, we lay and talk and cuddle in my little single bed. Her kindness was beginning to relax me and things were looking up down there. I had just begun my ascension when I hear my mother’s voice.

“Doodle, open the god damn door!”
“Dear god in heaven I know I did not hear my mother calling me” I thought to myself.
“Doodle I said open the god damn door, what are you locking the fucking door for anyway?”

It was her.

“Shit!”
“Holy Fuck!”
“God damn it”
“I am so screwed!” (and not in the good way I thought).
“FUCK”, I said again just for emphasis.

My whole world began to spiral behind me like the opening sequence of The Twilight Zone. I quickly shoved Melissa into my closet and answered the front door feigning a sleepy-head.

“Ya’ll were suppose to be back until tomorrow”
“Now I can’t sleep, I am going to watch T.V.”

“Shit”, I thought. I have a tiny girl shoved in my bedroom closet. “How in the fuck am I going to get her out?” I tried to calm my brain while I cooked up a plan. Then it came to me: wait until my parents were asleep and then get her out of the house. I went into my room and whispered my plan to Melissa. She did not seem to be half as scared as I was, this situation must have not been new to her. After a couple hours I heard my stepfather begin to snore and used the opportunity to rush Melissa out the door. I grabbed my car keys and had just shut the big squeaky front door when I realized that I could not drive her home: I had no muffler. If I started my car it would sound like Nazi’s over London. “Think, think, think, you asshole” I berated myself. My friend Mike, he would help me. He was the only person that I could call for this sorta mission. He would not be happy about it though.

“Mike it is Gordon”
“What in the fuck are you doing calling me this late?” he asked all groggy and grumpy.
“I need your help…no questions. Bring your car to the bottom of my driveway and wait. I have someone for you to take home.”
“Who is it?”
“A girl”
“I am on my way buddy.”

Ten minutes later Mike was waiting at the end of my driveway and Melissa was sitting in the passenger seat. This would have been the end of the story except for two things: she left her purse and clothes in the laundry room. Long story short I had to spend thirty more minutes opening that squeaky bastard of a door before I could give Melissa her things. As I watched Mike and Melissa pull off I could not help but laugh at myself. I could not believe that I actually pulled it off. “What a fucking night” I thought to myself as I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling.

The next morning I got up early, purchased flowers and a card and found myself knocking on Melissa’s door.

“I am so sorry Melissa, everything was such a disaster.”
“I was mad at you at first, but now it is sorta funny to me.”
“It is not funny to me”, I said lamenting at all I had put her through that evening: impotence then being shoved in a closet for two hours and shuffled off like an illegal alien in the middle of the night.”
“Can I make it up to you Melissa? Give me one more chance”.
She smiled softly, took the flowers and said “I’ll see you in Nirvana” and went back into the house.

I guess sometimes you only get one chance to get a hard on.

And now for something completely different...

The afternoon lull has got me. My stomach is leaden with Chinese buffet. I feel so heavy that my ass and chair have become indistinguishable in my mind. If I am going to get up I will need a long pry bar and some sort of pivot. I just need to break the seal. I think that when my ass finally clears the cushion it will make a sound like ancient air rushing from a freshly popped open sarcophagus.

Some days it is hard to make yourself work; other voices call you. Today there is a strange balmy breeze blowing and it is distracting me. It is both cool and warm at the same time and smells like memories. This morning on the way to work I delayed my usual commute just to stand in it for a few minutes. Twenty minutes later I am late for work and exceeding my usual moderate pace on the highway… but there was no traffic to dodge. I like to think that strange wind scrambled the brain waves of my fellow gas guzzlers and they like me were leaning on their cars somewhere under its spell.

I was not there but last night D set off a firework in the house. We had bought some fireworks from Publix for the Fourth of July and there were a few little ones left in the pack. D picked out a harmless looking little firework, put it in the sink, and lit it; big mistake. That little stick of gunpowder gushed black smoke into our kitchen and rained up showers of golden hot sparks towards our ceiling; then the twenty-one gun salute began. Our little Yorkshire terrier, Winston got so upset by this boom-boom stick and light show that he now is afraid to be in the kitchen. His little nervous system was so short-circuited that he was running around in circles and insisting on sitting out in the pouring rain from hurricane Cindy. Although Winston bonded early on with D, he embraced my homecoming with new enthusiasm and was more than happy to go upstairs and got to bed with me. Thanks to D and the power of thermal dynamics I now have a new relationship with my dog.

I went to get an autograph last night. Hollis Gillespie was signing her new book at the Outwrite Bookstore in midtown. I arrived just as Hurricane Cindy was getting started and left right before she caught her second breathe (Cindy…not Hollis). I have been a Hollis fan for a couple of years now and I had a slight apprehension about being in her presence. I must admit I was a little star struck. Before everyone lined up to get their book personalized, Hollis did a telling of her stories. She was very likeable and had me smiling and feeling glad that I had braved the weather and bad Map Quest directions to be there. I had come with the intention of giving her the address of this little blog to check out (if she wanted to of course). I made a little address label with my name and blog and email and all that shit on it. I had my hand on it as I inched my way towards her in line but when the time to give it to her I left that paper there like a whore on a corner.

“Hi”, I said faking being comfortable.
“Hi”, Hollis said.
“Wow, look at all that rain. I will never get home now. I live in Lawrenceville”.
“You came all that way to see me”
“Yeah” I said (but I had only driven from Cumberland Mall).
She paused and seemed to be flattered by this remark.
“I give your book to all my friends” (well one…but she really liked it).
“Really”
“Yeah, I was so scared to come up here and see you”
“Why”
“You know…you’re a celebrity and all” I said with downcast eyes.
“Honey, don’t be afraid of my. Take a flight to Pensacola on Delta and I will be serving you peanuts”

I walked away shyly just as the word peanuts left her mouth. I did not want to take up too much of her time. I looked at her one last time before I did some puddle stomping and walked up the sidewalk to my car. I was glad that I did not bother her with my little piece of paper but at the same time of course I wish that I had given it to her. God damn it.